


Waging Storms

by Yofi_Aurora



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:02:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25168888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yofi_Aurora/pseuds/Yofi_Aurora
Summary: Head Boy Draco/Head Girl Hermione, a slow-burn fanfic of their relationship.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter One - Vanilla

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading! This is my first work so please leave all your comments below, I'm so happy to read them. I've been wanting to write for the community in which I grew up for a while. I will be posting more chapters soon, just wanted to throw this intro out there and see what you all thought. Hope you're all staying safe and well. 
> 
> ~Yofi

Chapter One - _Hermione_ :

There is a feeling surrounded by the kind of rain where you can hear nothing but the ocean around you. The heavy downpour that erupts from the skies, weighed and warm, coats everything in its way with a thunderous power. That which brings with it whipping winds, wild branches, rivers of rain flooding the cobbled streets outside your window. This kind of rain blows so ferociously that with your face pressed against the screen, you feel a mist - a kiss of the forces of nature, a breath of the freshest air you strain your lungs to devour, an almost maniacal joy that pulses through you in rhythm with the wild outside. It awakens an insanity within you that makes you want to burst through the door, out into the street, and soak in the energy. Makes you dream of running barefoot, tracing the cobbles underneath your stinging toes, rain coating your entire body, hair clinging to the nape of your neck, your face raw and exposed to the droplets. It almost makes you want to just lie flat on your back in the soaking grass, and relinquish yourself to the storm,  _ feeling _ in all five senses what it means to be one with nature.

Hermione, for all intents and purposes, was a fairly logical person. Headstrong and, after all, the brightest witch of her age, she never cared much for whimsy or indulgence into fantasy. But no matter how old she grew, how much she learned, however many books towered in her bedroom, there was one childish feeling that she couldn’t shake - a reverent respect, an almost submission, to nature’s most crackling storms. As a child, she could remember her mother - graceful, beautiful, and strong, reading bedtime folklore to her on their nook by the window. Hermione could still smell the soft wafts of vanilla as she nestled into her mum’s busom, hear the whispering lull of the story, and remember losing focus to the storm raging outside. Sometimes her mother would notice, and she would put the book down, stand little ‘Mione up to the glass, slide open a little crack to let the smell of the rain in, and just hold her quietly - both women lost in the colors, the energy, and the ferocious beauty that raged around them. Sometimes they’d sit this way for hours, waiting for the storm to pass, silent to the conversations between the wind and the rain. Sometimes her father would come into the chilled room, holding woven blankets to drape around their shoulders, cups of cocoa to let steam by them, with rich scents of dark chocolate to warm their insides. He, too, would sit by her mother, and let himself be lost to the world. The three of them; cheeks flushed from the wind escaping through the small space in the open window, noses warmed by breath as they pressed against the glass, hearts pounding with the flurries of thoughts running through their minds - a beautiful storm, both inside the quiet house and out.

This reverence for a good storm never left Hermione; from the moments by the window sill held upright by her parents, to the solitude she found as Head Girl in her room at Hogwarts. Today - bundled in her childhood blankets interwoven with faint hints of vanilla and dark leather, a steaming mug of cocoa one of the kind elves in the kitchen had prepared for her clutched between her hands, with homemade whipped cream lining her upper lip, she sat mesmerized on the floor by her tall gothic window. One of the many perks of being Head Girl gave Hermione a beautiful, quiet room towering over the castle with an undisturbed view over the lake. Through it, she was given an almost film-like scene into the storm outside. Dark clouds raged over Hogwarts, rain pelting down with un unprecedented ferociousness, thunder grumbling so powerfully she could feel her heart jump every time in response. And there, sat in the middle of the lake, the Giant Squid playing with the lightning - reaching out its massive tentacles as if trying to catch it, splashing about as if tickled by the shocks every time they touched the water. Unbeknownst to herself, Hermione was smiling. There was no more perfect moment than the one she was lost in now. 

Chapter One - _Draco_ :

Draco Lucius Malfoy, proud descendent of a wizarding family rich in history, in secrets, and in wealth, with silky golden hair and eerily flawless porcelain skin, knelt cowering under his blankets while the storm raged outside his family’s manor. Cold, he burrowed as far as he could under his pillows, trying to drown out the noise. Pulling the thick, emerald blankets around himself, he knew better than to call for his mummy no matter how desperately he wanted her there, so he did what any five year old would do - he started to cry. 

The thing about Narcissa was neither her family history nor her complicit involvement in her husband’s circle of followers could chill and harden her heart. She was a smart woman - she knew how to survive, how to be proud and look strong. The night she had Draco was the only time she had felt so defenseless, so vulnerable, so raw to an immense power of emotion she couldn’t place - love. She vowed to never let herself get so weak again. And so she cared for Draco from a distance, keeping tight command over the elves, making sure he was coddled and warmed and fed, dressed and kept active and educated, alas, never by her. But on this night, in the dark hours of a stormy morning, as she lay wide awake, she wanted nothing more than to succumb to her motherly instinct, and run straight for her whimpering son. Turning slightly to look at the peaceful slumber which had taken over Lucius, she allowed herself to try. Slowly peeling away her covers, Narcissa rose off the bed. Turning to her husband for any sign of awareness, her body moved as if on autopilot, dressing quietly in a robe, pulling the hairs by her face behind her, feet sliding into silent slippers that carried her feet to the double doors before her. Hand on the gilded serpent which wrapped its way around the knob, Narcissa’s mind was made - her act of defiance, to herself, to her nature, was already in motion. Thin, pale fingers pushed the doors apart, and suddenly she was breathing freely, quickly striding towards the other side of the corridor. 

As she quietly slipped into her son’s room, she saw him freeze and fall quiet, trying to figure out what he had just heard. A small, flushed face emerged from underneath the covers, grey eyes shining with tears. Turning to the door, he barely had a chance to recognize his mother’s silhouette before she scooped him into her arms, burrowed his face into her neck, and held him closer than he could ever remember. The initial shock lasted only a moment before his arms went around her and he clung on to her for stability, for safety, for comfort. And as Narcissa held her trembling child, his eyes still fixated on the storm outside - he realized how safe he had felt, so different the rain seemed now - so far away from his shelter in his mother’s arms. Slowly, with the rhythmic patter of the drops against his giant window, nose buried deep into his mother’s vanilla-fragrant skin, Draco was lulled to a peaceful sleep. And Narcissa, warm child against her breast, heart again raw against the softness of his skin, the tight grasp onto which he held, felt herself exposed to the storm both outside the window and in her soul. This way she held him, until the storm finally passed and the brilliant colors of sunlight shone through. Until she softly pressed her cool lips to his warm forehead, gently laid him down taking great care to tucks the covers tightly around him, lips slighting upward as she watched her son’s thumb drift to his mouth. Like a ghost, she slipped back out the doors, through the corridor, and back into her silken sheets, heart light, mind free, relinquishing herself to the caress of sleep. 

Twelve years later, a 17 year old Head Boy, Draco sat at the furthest point in his room from the stone windows as the storm raged outside - yearning deep within his being for warmth and protection. Brows furrowed at the whipping of the wind against the panels, he softly rose to grab a pillow off his bed, holding it tight to his chest. Somewhere, in the distance, he noted a faint waft of rich chocolate, filling his lungs until his stomach grumbled and his heart lightened.  _ “Strange” _ he thought, but he was glad for it - this small little whiff gave him a deep sense of comfort. Fluttering his heavy eyelids shut, Draco smirked at a silly revelation: chocolate heals everything, as all wizards and muggles know. Unbeknownst to himself, Draco’s brow softened. 

It could have been worse - this wasn’t a terrible moment, the one he was lost in now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course, it all starts with some chocolate. Let me know what you think! See you all in the next chapter soon...
> 
> ~Yofi


	2. Chapter Two - Toast

Chapter Two - Hermione:  
As the golden rays of sun danced across her face, Hermione arose to the beautiful smell of a drenched earth - grass fresh with clinging droplets and a crisp breath of morning air. Soil turned topside, Hogwarts grounds gleaming with the reflections of the sun in the soaked stone, the Head Girl’s room flooded with sunlight, and brought with it the excited, nervous energy of a first day. Rising from her pillowy bed, Hermione glanced to her uniform neatly pressed and folded on the chair beside her, remembering her past night’s careful planning, polished shoes shining by the door. “Today’s going to be just fine” she advised herself, and determinedly rose, quiet feet padding their way to the washroom. 

Opening the beautiful mahogany door, she entered her bathroom and found within it the touch of the elves who perfected its design to her. Pale yellows adorned the walls, sunlight streaming in through a giant window and highlighting paint streaks of orange and red - an eternal sunrise. Sink and deep bathtub of white stone, a simple oval mirror that reflected flushed cheeks, untamed curls, and a nervous yet radiant complexion of a woman determined to own her day. Fresh eucalyptus stemmed out of a dusted pink glass on her sink and the room smelled faintly of roses. Cracking open the window to let air in, Hermione breathed in deeply, and a wave of calm washed through her lungs with the flutter of white linen curtains. Washing her face with cool water, she took note of the summer’s kisses freckled atop her skin. Like her mother used to, she pinched her cheeks, braided her hair into an elegant plait, clasped a dainty gold necklace around her neck, and spritzed a little wisp of vanilla between the heels of her hands, behind her ears, and down the sides of her neck. Turning to leave and catching her reflection in the mirror, “curious” she thought, as she noticed another wooden door in the back of the room. Walking up to it, she quietly turned the knob, but to her surprise found it locked. In the distance, she heard the clock tower chime eight times and all other thoughts flew out of her head. 

With the excited energy of a first year, Hermione bounded down the steps of her tower to the Great Hall, bag swinging against her with the weight of her books, a catastrophic pendulum of danger to the other students who unfortunately happened to pass by her. Eyes sparkling at the view, she stopped in her tracks to take in the billowing steam rising from the thousands of plates before her; fresh eggs in every which way, perfectly melted butter coating the most outrageously beautifully toasted fresh bread, fruit muffins prodded with roasted nuts, black puddings, sausages, and ripe tomatoes scattered between bubbling pots of porridge, kettles of tea, and large baskets of sugary treats which made her tooth-health upbringing instinctively shudder. Finding the glaring orange mop completely face down in its plate, Hermione sat down beside her childhood mate and shook him awake. “Ronald, it’s the first day. How could you possibly already be exhausted?” Handing him the chocolate croissant she picked up along the way, he glared back in response through heavy lidded eyes “’Mione, it’s the first day. How could you possibly already be telling me off?”. Smiling at the familial comfort of their rapport, Hermione turned to face the bespeckled boy across her and offered him a grin. “Hi, Harry” “Morning, ‘Mione”. Pulling a hot mug of green tea and some raspberry jam toward her, she began to liberally coat her toast, and catching up on their classes, duties, and Harry’s quidditch schedule, the three decided upon visiting Hagrid after dinner, eager to see their friend both enormous in physical size and in heart.

Looking at her own timetable, Hermione noted the first thing on her day’s list was a meeting with McGonagall regarding Head Girl duties, details, and meeting the Head Boy. Eager to see one of her most favorite professors again, she impatiently tapped her foot against the floor, willing time to pass by faster. Grabbing an orange and some biscuits off the table, Harry neatly folded them up into a napkin and passed them to his nearly vibrating friend – “Go, ‘Mione..” he advised with twinkling eyes, “…before you knock all the food off our table”. Jumping up as through a spring was coiled beneath her seat, she gratefully accepted, tossed the food into her bag, and throwing her boys a beaming smile, she briskly walked out of the dining hall, leaving two thirds of the golden trio shaking their heads in disbelief in her wake.

Re-engaging in her most obsessive game of late, Hermione started running through the names of all her classmates trying to place guesses on who she would be partnered with for the year. “It has to be a Ravenclaw” she convinced herself, knowing that Dumbledore would never pair two partners of the same house together, and foolishly doubting that he would ask her to partner with any idiot of the Slytherin lot. Almost crashing into, but stopping short of Professor McGonagall’s office door, she closed her eyes and took a calming breath. Running her hand atop her hair and rolling her eyes at the mess of a plait she already felt uncoil beneath her, she touched her necklace briefly, straightened out, and knocked on the door. “Come on in, dear!” she heard, and pushed open the heavy wood to face the brilliant woman inside she so revered. 

Bracing herself, the elderly professor self-assured that having survived through all that she did including the game of risk that was teaching at Hogwarts every day – she would get through this meeting. As a light blond head facing the professor turned towards the door, Hermione’s smile quickly dropped. Chocolate eyes met silver, and a frigid horror of realization filled the room.

Chapter Two - Draco:  
Awakened by the rich scent of fresh bread wafting through his room, Draco opened his eyes to a silver tray by the foot of his bed sinking under the weight of a full teapot, a plate of buttered toasts, and three hard boiled eggs. Groaning in appreciation in time with the grumbling of his stomach, Draco didn’t even bother to question how the elves had known he would want to spend his morning in solitude, away from the fools that ran around the Great Hall like animals. Sipping his green tea, he stared out the window that had kept him up, and quietly appreciated the calm of the sun rays warming his face. As he ate his breakfast, an owl tapped its beak against the glass, holding within it claws a stark white piece of parchment with the emerald Malfoy seal on it. Opening the window to let in fresh air with the hint of last night’s storm, the stunning black owl flew in and landed on his arm - dutifully sticking out its leg. Handing the owl half a piece of toast in thanks and shoving the other half in his own mouth, Draco let it settle on the table by a glass of water to relax after its journey, and out of the corner of his eye saw the little beak dive into the glass immediately. Running his knife through the envelope, the Malfoy heir pulled out the letter adorned with the elegant script of his mother, neatly marked in black ink, wishing him luck and reminding him to be a strong and proud leader, a positive representation of the Malfoy name at Hogwarts. 

Frowning at the ever-growing burden he felt weighing down on his shoulders, Draco crumpled the letter and tossed it into the fire crackling by the end of the room. “Thanks for the reminder” he muttered to himself, glancing frustratedly at the Head Boy badge gleaming absurdly on his robes. Padding over to his washroom, Draco turned the silver handle to find a cool, light grey stone room, calming and simple, with an already open window letting in the fresh breeze. A large stone bath sat on the floor, almost miniature pool size, with a large showe head on the side of the wall. Running his hands along the rough topography of stone, he admired the natural shades of grey, white, and black that striated alongside his sink. Looking up at the mirror hung above it, Draco’s reflection stared back at him - cut jaw line set in a determined look, fair skin that made his sharp, silver eyes pierce through, and unkept, tousled blonde hair - a state of collected disarray, a recurring theme in his life he could always resonate with. Splashing cool water on his face and brushing a wet comb through his hair, he noticed in the back of the room a nondescript door, which upon his failed initial attempt at unlocking, he gave up on. Pushing another one of Hogwarts’ unsurprising random entrances to the back of his mind, Draco pulled on his trousers, buttoned up his shirt, fixed the collar to his liking, and laced up his shoes. Finally, he threw on the wretched robes emblazoned with his newfound position once more nowhere near in the back of the crowd where he preferred to be. 

Snatching the schedule scrolled up on top of his desk, he unfurled the parchment to find where he had to begin his day - and all the food sank in his stomach when he read his presence was required with the head of Gryffindor house to discuss Head Boy duties and meet his partner. Draco, brighter than most gave him credit for, had no mistaken stipulations as to which beaver-toothed, hurricane of a human was going to be chosen as Head Girl, and with every step toward McGonagall’s office, felt deepening dread for what was already showing to be a terrible year. Knocking politely on her door he was welcomed in with a curt nod, and the professor directed her sharp gaze across the top of her glasses, gesturing for him to sit across her. Sinking into the wooden seat, Draco felt the familiar subdued thudding of an oncoming headache, and taking a deep breath, met her eyes. 

“Mr. Malfoy, as I’m sure you’re aware, Head Boy duties are not just a representation of House, but rather of excellence in academia, spirit, and leadership within our school, and for that I must offer you my congratulations.” Seeing the young man politely nod in return, she softened her tone and continued. “You have been chosen for this role because of who you are, and whom you’ve proven yourself to be these past six years - I can assure you, your family and their name had no bearing on our decision.” Here, the elderly professor paused, to make sure she saw her words sink in. She watched the man before her, burdened with influences beyond his control, take another deep breath and appreciatively murmur “Thank you, Professor”. Offering him a slight smile, she carried on - “And while I can credit you enough to assume you are already aware of which young woman you will be working with, I do feel the need to ask that the both of you put your childish rivalries behind you - and work hard together to lead the school in the powerful manner in which I know you both can - should you choose to work with, and not against, one another.” 

Both heads turned as they heard a soft “-Oh!” outside the door, as if one had almost run straight through it. A few seconds later, the person outside knocked, and Professor McGonagall gave Draco a pointed look before allowing the person in. Draco braced himself, he had known the second he received his badge in the mail at the beginning of the summer who he would be forced to partner with. But no matter how much he fretted about it, no matter how many times he turned in his bed as sleep evaded him, nothing prepared him well enough to truly see her walk through the door; real, and bright eyed, and, Draco noted, obviously shocked. Turning her head to the professor as if seeking reassurance that this wasn’t some kind of cruel joke being played on her, the bespeckled witch gestured for Hermione to join across her. Draco watched as for the first time in his life she silently walked towards him, and sat beside him in a chair uncomfortably close, her straight-backed shoulder brushing up against his robes. 

Her cheeks and nose dusted with freckles he noticed. Her usually wild hair was bound in a careful plait, and he watched her absentmindedly touch the gold necklace resting on her neck. As she rushed past him, he was hit with a faint waft of vanilla, and for some reason that made his stomach clench and his face flush. Willing to any and all deities for this meeting to suddenly be over, he resignedly turned back to the professor.

Catching the desperate looking students’ gaze, the professor offered a smile. 

“Shall we begin?”


	3. Chapter Three - Roses

Chapter Three -  _ Hermione _ :

As if challenged to beat the world record for fastest speech, Hermione recounted her meeting at terrifying speed; hands flying with expression, tea mug dangerously perched between her knees, eyes flashing at every mention of a  _ particular person’s name _ , all three members of her audience actively listening in horror while dodging the flying pieces of fruitcake coming off her plate. Hagrid sat on his bench-sized chair, aghast, and Harry and Ron’s eyes were as large as saucepans, teeth foolishly glued together by their host’s homemade treacle toffee. 

“...Then she warned us to  _ behave! BEHAVE!  _ As if I could possibly be held responsible for that miserable ferret and his bullying ways.  _ AND _ , that brings up the main point! How could  _ he _ have been chosen?  _ Draco bloody Malfoy -  _ head boy?!” And with that, Hermione reached the end of her tirade and slumped into the giant chair with a questionable exclamation of frustration. Catching her friends’ grins and immediately realizing, Hermione blushed, turning rigid - “Sorry, Hagrid!”

“It’s alrigh’ ‘Mione. Yeh got a lot on your min’. Yer right - I dunno wha’ Dumbledore thinks he’s doin’, but yeh gotta trust him o’ course”. Rolling her eyes, Hermione placed the fruitcake (which weighed down on her lap like a rock) on the table with a heavy _thud_ and crossed her arms. “ _Working with Draco Malfoy_ …” she thought to herself “... ** _living_** _next to him. Having to hear each and every slag who throws herself at him._ ” The lioness Head Girl visibly flushed, growled, and prayed to the founders that at least one of them had the brains to put some kind of permanent silencing spell on the walls. 

Ever the savant of diffusing tension, Harry awkwardly patted her shoulder and changed the subject, turning towards Hagrid with hopeful eyes - “Hagrid, are you teaching Care of Magical Creatures again this term?” “Ah ‘Arry...” the giant’s cheeks blushing with pride “...like I told yeh, I’m jus’ a Keeper o’ Keys at Hogwarts. Decided ter help Dumbledore in keepin’ the grounds lookin’ good this year especially”. Eyes naughtily twinkling with the bit of information he had let slip, the bearded man’s heart lept in laughter as he saw three heads whip his way, six pairs of eyes (or eight, depending on how much childish malice you have in you) scrutinizing him. “What do you mean,  _ this year especially _ ?” Ron exclaimed worriedly. Laughing heartily, Hagrid clapped Harry and Ron on their backs sending Harry’s glasses flying across the room and began to take their mugs from off the table. “Yer better get goin’ before curfew, especially yeh ‘Mione - wouldn’ want ter be out late on yer first nigh’ as Head Girl”. Shaking his head in knowing amusement, Hagrid watched as Hermione leapt to her feet in shock and immediately started herding her friends out of the hut, summoning Harry’s glasses as an afterthought. Three sets of distant “Thank you, Hagrid!” could be heard as the trio ran to catch up to her brisk pace back up the winding hill to the castle. 

Stumbling back into her room, she glanced at the grandfather clock - one hour left until her first patrol with Malfoy. Frustratedly mumbling to herself, she thought of his trademark smirk, arrogantly perfect robes, and outrageous calm. Realizing she wouldn’t stand giving him any other reason to think her beneath him, she decided to take a hot shower, relax, and be just as clean, poised, and put together. Sniffing her sweater, she smiled at the quite obvious scent of fire from Hagrid’s hut, nestled between the curly strands of Fang’s fur and thick (yet loving) trails of slobber. A shower was a brilliant idea, for sure. 

Shedding her clothes, she stepped into her bathroom, naked feet sofly padding along the stone floor. Turning the knobs of her shower to set a perfect mildly scalding temperature, Hermione stepped in, and felt, as you do, with the river of heat pouring down her, her shoulders relax, head drop, and brows unfurrow - a momentary, perfect, peace. She felt her breathing slow, and deepen, and began to lather her hair with her favorite shampoo. The room began to fill with steam and a faint scent of roses, she delightfully noted. No less than three-oceans-and-a couple-of-small-ponds worth later, Hermione shut the water off, wrapped a thick towel around her, and twisted her hair into another small, and very visibly worn, linen cloth. She gently applied cream to her face, mindfully rubbed oils into her arms and legs, and then shrewdly peered into the foggy mirror to asses. Unfurling her hair from its flimsy confinement, she took time to carefully brush out her hair, running leave-in hair treatments through it. Finishing it off with another simple plait, she decided it was time to move beyond the warmth of her washroom. 

Eternally grateful for the merry fire that always crackled warmly in her chambers, she reached for her warmest pyjamas, thick, woolen socks, and shrugged on her school robes over it all, finally slipping her feet into a soft pair of shoes she knew would do the job. Grabbing her wand, she checked the clock once more.  _ “Perfect. 20 minutes left.” _ Summoning the rejuvenating calm, she made her way down to the kitchens for a last minute necessity. The elves greeted her warily, but were happy to send her on her way with a tumbler of green tea and a teaspoon of honey. With no other excuses left to entertain, Hermione made her way to the front of the Great Hall, where they’d previously discussed to meet. 

Chapter Three -  _ Draco _ :

Head thudding ridiculously, Draco headed straight for the courtyard, feeling as if he were taking his first real breaths after being stifled in a room too small, too hot, and too vanilla. Angrily kicking aside his things, he slumped gracelessly onto a bench, and dropped his head into his hands. The entire meeting had been awful. Professor McGonagall had spent the hour discussing duties, administering warnings, offering suggestions, and expressing expectations. Other than her voice, the room was deathly silent. Hermione sat rigidly the entire time, cheeks flushed, flustered eyes obviously continuing to question if his presence in the room was really some kind of joke. As if that helped. This had been a truly horrendous day - and it was barely ten in the morning. Frustratedly pulling out his schedule from his bag, his grey eyes sharply covered the page. Potions with Ravenclaws as his first class of the day. Now  _ that _ he could handle. 

And so the day trudged along, and Draco silently phased from one class to another, moving as if in a dream from the dungeons of the castle to the towers. He briefly met with Crabbe and Goyle but after precisely six minutes of listening to Goyle’s attempts of impressing him with his father’s dark accomplishments over the summer, Draco realized that if he didn’t leave, he would implode. Curtly explaining he needed to get dinner before starting his duties, he left them, but he would bet anyone fifty galleons it would be at least a minute before they noticed he had gone. 

You see, it wasn’t that his lack of interest in the two, blustering buffoons had lessened at all over the years. It wasn’t even that Goyle had clearly slept through potions leaving Malfoy to do the work alone. In fact, it was the breaching of conversation that had anything to do with wealthy Slytherin fathers who dabbled in the dark arts which turned Draco’s stomach inside out. 

The past few months had been a genuine summer of solitude. Draco stayed mostly in his room, reading, or sometimes joining his mother for walks around their garden. Blaise had left to Italy to see family and ruin the lives of plenty young women, Astoria had started courting Theo (as The Daily Prophet printed all over the front cover, with a continuing story on page six), and his father had left on countless private trips to meet with other well known prior Death Eaters, conducting business that never seemed to reveal itself no matter how hard Draco dug. But as he spent his days amidst the towering stacks of literature within the Manor’s private library, Draco’s mind began to creep into unfamiliar territories. While a decidedly biased curated collection, the Malfoy library was nothing if not complete. Some books just had to be summoned off the highest shelves, dusted off, and magically spell unbound. And as any learned person begins to do, with every turn of page, Draco was forced to question his ingrained beliefs, search for proof in blood differences between purebloods and muggleborns, and come up frustratedly empty handed. He delved into magical history, into wizarding law, into ancient books on magic. And the more he read, the more quiet he became. 

Draco ended the summer quite a bit more lonely than he began it, as now he was alone in his thoughts too. He’d never dream to discuss these questions with his mother, but instead could be found absentmindedly muttering to himself amidst the stacks, or sometimes interrogating poor Tilly, his favorite childhood elf. Tilly, on account of wanting to serve Mr. Malfoy to the utmost degree, answered all of his thousands of questions on history, on magic, and on law. She told his stories from his ancestors, and information on wizardry and magic that one wouldn’t typically learn at Hogwarts. And when he finally let her escape back to the kitchens, he was left more confused and anxious than ever before. Is a man with no solid beliefs, with no set convictions, really a man? 

Well that half-man found himself walking towards the Great Hall for dinner, and sliding into a bench across from his mate. Fortunately for him, Blaise had become irrationally infatuated with some muggle-born girl he met in Italy. According to the tall Italian, this girl was brilliant, beautiful, and an absolute firecracker in bed. Apparently she gave him a run for his money, and he’d been dedicatedly “working out” his entire time abroad. So he was a bit more favorable to muggles than his ancestry mislead him to be. The two friends recounted their summers, Draco doing most of the listening during this part, and then Blaise was filled in on the morning’s events. To be fair, neither of the Slytherin’s “most wanted” boys could ever be mistaken for unintelligent, so they had both seen this coming. Zabini reached over to pat his mate on the back in sympathy, and wished him the best of luck to not drown in a shared common space of what promised to be filled with curly hair and an annoyingly observant, particularly orange half-kneazle. 

Sighing defeatedly, Draco stood to drop his books off in his new room before coming back down for rounds. Once he reached his room, in a particularly uncharacteristic manner did the Malfoy heir fall face first onto his bed, wishing it to swallow him whole. He heard the lulling sounds of rushing water somewhere in the distance and - was that bloody  _ roses _ that he could smell? 

  
  
Right. Enough of that. He stood, gave himself one last look in the mirror, straightened his hair, and turned to the door. Slipping his wand in his robes, Draco headed back down to the Great Hall, and stood rigidly by its entrance.

10 minutes to go until she arrived...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your patience! A lot more chapters coming out over this holiday season, I promise. 
> 
> ~Yofi


	4. Chapter Four - Pine

#### Chapter Four - Pine

Chapter Four - _Hermione_ :

_Bloody hell he’s already here._ Cheeks reddening, Hermione walked toward the Slytherin Prince.  
  
“Malfoy”

“Granger”

“Should we start at the dungeons and work our way back up to the tower?” Hermione suggested. He nodded slightly, and sharply turned toward the staircase. He didn’t hurry from her, she noted, but walked quietly beside her. 

The unlikely pair spiraled further and further down, and Hermione felt chills run through her. She didn’t quite care for the cool air, the reflection of the lake on the dark stone, and the dim lighting. She felt suddenly very self aware - a meek lioness walking into the den of snakes. Pulling her robes a bit tighter around her, she went on. 

Twenty minutes later, after sending some wandering first years back to bed, and breaking up a game of Exploding Snap that some sixth years had creatively incorporated Firewhisky into, the two found themselves slowly ascending back up. 

“Not too bad for the first time in the dungeons, Granger. I almost didn’t see you sneer at anyone”. 

Rolling her eyes, Hermione felt the side of her mouth slightly turn upward as they silently continued past the kitchens to the Hufflepuff dormitories. And so they drifted, from Hufflepuff to Gryffindor, from Gryffindor to Ravenclaw, and finally from Ravenclaw back to their tower. An uneventful, complete, and perfect patrol. 

And as the clock struck the eleventh hour, the two stood inside their shared common space together for the first time. Glancing around the room, looking for anywhere to set her eyes on, Hermione’s gaze awkwardly settled on the back wall. Clearing her throat, she started “Well, I think that was good. I guess I’ll turn in and see you tomorrow again, yes?” 

Nodding again, Draco absentmindedly tucked a loose hair behind his ear, and turned his tired eyes to her. “Okay”.

_Brilliant. That should be enough conversation for today._

The two turned and meekly retreated into their respective bedrooms. And as Hermione closed her door, she felt the stiffness of her walk and the walls she had drawn up around her, melt. Great Merlin was she tired. Emotionally drained from the stress of what could’ve been, only to be completely set for a spin when Malfoy was not only not evil, but civil, really. It truly had been good, excellent really, against her previous expectation for how tonight was going to go. 

As she brushed her teeth, slipped into her pajamas, and sank into bed, her mind turned to fully run through everything she witnessed within the past two hours. He had grown up. He was not only taller, but calmer - the lines around his face were less severe. His eyes were a warm grey, like molten stone. He smelled of pine and winter woods covered in fresh snow, and she blushed at the thought. He seemed quiet in an introspective manner, he was professional even with the Gryffindors who tried to pelt various Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes at him. 

He was okay, and she was bewildered. But perhaps this was the luck of the first day after summer. Hermione would be foolish to believe this could last. 

Chapter Four - _Draco_ :

Draco was, for lack of a better word, flustered. While his practiced stoicism prevailed around her, and he managed to clear the evening without a single outwardly hiccup, his insides were churning. 

_Granger. Did she do something to her teeth?_ Draco felt overwhelmed, completely overstimulated by noticing everything, truly every little second, about their interaction. 

About how he now knew exactly where the roses that wafted into his room and lulled him to sleep came from. About how he noted her chest rising and falling at a quickened pace when they walked towards his house’s dorms. About how when she shivered, something primal within him wanted to gently squeeze her arm. About how when they were walking back up the many flights the castle forced onto them, how a blush formed over her nose and cheeks as she laboured and became slightly breathless. Why did hearing her short breaths make him uneasy? Why did the baby curls that escaped her braid and framed her face almost beg for someone, _for him_ , to reach out and gently tuck them behind her ears?

Draco shuddered, scolding himself furiously for such ridiculous thoughts. Too much to have her both in the next room and in his mind. Convincing himself that there was a perfectly biological reason for this behavior in response to her once-in-a-blue-moon civility, he immediately threw himself into an absurdly freezing shower. 

_Bloody lions._

Now as in all humanity who finds their greatest thoughts arise out of lengthy sessions in the shower, like a lightning bolt, or a poorly animated abomination of muggle humor when a lightbulb goes off above some idiot’s head, Draco sharply looked at the locked door at the back of his bathroom with dreadful realization. He hoped to Merlin this castle didn’t betray him, and that the walls between him and her were at least one Great Hall table long width of nothing but stone. 

Horrified at his newfound, and most unwelcome, sudden proximity to the sharpest third of the Golden trio, Draco groaned deeply and let his head fall against the stone wall next to him...repeatedly. Was it too late to honor his father’s wishes and just uproot to Durmstrang? 

Wallowing in a child’s expression of self pity, Draco emerged, blue and shivering, from his shower. Muttering a quick drying spell, he summoned his night wear and took a shot of firewhisky that he conveniently confiscated from his rounds. 

How has this year only begun?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Really, truly sorry about the delay and this rather short chapter. This year is most definitely a whirlwind. From now on, the chapters should be coming more frequently, and dare I say, should be more *spicy* as we continue through their story. Thank you for sticking with me, and please continue leaving your comments I love to read them!
> 
> See you very soon. 
> 
> ~Yofi


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